


The Shot to End It All.

by fandomismyship



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Crying, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Guns, Shooting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-09 11:23:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomismyship/pseuds/fandomismyship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last time John had lost Sherlock he came back, but this time he wasn't going to return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Shot to End It All.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry. Angst. I am in one of those moods today, you know?
> 
> I am doing this one chapter, so thats why it's all under headings.
> 
> Tumblr; http://bilbowatsonholmes.tumblr.com/

** The Death. **

"Sherlock, _stop_ _it_ ," John exclaimed with a chuckle as Sherlock pulled the doctor down an alley way.

"Don't be so boring, John." Sherlock pressed his lips to the others, smirking as John gave in and kissed back with all the might he had. The mans lips were soft, like a flowers pettle. They drove Sherlock crazy.

John licked the cupids bow and went up onto his tip toes. "I love when you have to do that," Sherlock had whispered into his ear, John pocking his side as he rolled his eyes.

"Shut up or we'll go home now."

"I'll be good," Sherlock promised as he pressed his lips back to Johns and resumed the kissing.

John pulled back at the sound of feet. "Sherlock..." he breathed, looking down the alley way, "someone's here." The man watched as his detective looked around, his eyes narrowing at a figure in the fog.

A man walked out, the sound of sirens echoing through the alleyway as he held up his gun, his hand shaking. Sherlock scanned him up and down. The man didn't look more than 30. His hand was shaking, indicating he was scared... the police, no. No... framed. Yes. A framed man, scared and someone who had never even held a gun before. Sherlock knew this wouldn't end well, and he just needed to protect John.

"Just breathe," Sherlock told the man, slowly approaching him and ignoring Johns hand trying to pulled him back.  "I know it wasn't your fault... I can help you, okay?" Sherlock held out his hand to take the gun.

"Stay back or I'll... I'll shoot you!" the man warned Sherlock as he gripped the gun tighter.

"Please, just give it to me and it'll all be okay." Sherlock reached for the gun as he heard a bang running through his ears and he fell back. The detective felt warm and strong hands catch him. The comfort was a feeling that Sherlock had never grown tired of. "John..."

The ex-army doctor held Sherlock in his hands, pulling off his jacket to press against the wound. "Breathe. Don't talk."

"John, st-"

"Don't talk, Sherlock!"

"Theres too much blood, there's not-" 

"No, no. I lost you once, I won't again... I ca-can't."

"It's okay, John... I'm not as scared as I once was," Sherlock whispered to him, smiling weakly. He knew he was going to die, he could feel it. Yes, he was scared, of course he was. What was there after life? What was there with no John? Sherlock shuddered in his lovers hand and bit back tears.

"No, no... stop talking, Sherlock. Please, please stop talking," John cried, putting more pressure on the wound.

Sherlock put his hand on Johns hand, squeezing it as his face drained of the little colour it had left. "He... he hit a main... John, it's no use..." the curly haired man whispered as he leant up and stole one last kiss from John. "I'm sorry," he whispered as John shook his head, salty tears falling from his face onto Sherlocks.

"Sherlock," John chocked out, shaking the man. "Sherlock, please... oh god, please..." John shook his head, tears rolling down his cheeks. "I am so sorry..."

* * *

 

** The Last Light In 221B. **

A silence hung in the air as John pulled on a dark blue scarf, one that had been drenched in blood only a week before. He placed the skull into a bag, refusing to part from it as he looked around the empty room. Why did this happen? Why had his life become a void of darkness. 

The darkness swallowed every happy thing John had, like a black hole sucks life and light out of everything near by.

John sighed as he pulled his bag on his shoulder(his good one, of course) and looked into the living room. A tear rolled down Johns cheek as the memories flooded back to him. He watched as his mind showed him Sherlock running around the room; the man curled up on the sofa; his violin attached under his chin as he played away; the nights he cuddled John like a child; the first 'I love you'; the first time they had sex; the first time they kissed; and the last kiss they shared before Sherlock was gone.

Gone. John still couldn't grasp it. Sherlock Holmes was really gone, he had died in Johns hands. The man shuddered and put a shaky hand to the light switch. "Goodbye, Sherlock..." he whispered before flicking the switch and making his way from Baker Street, never to return again.

* * *

**A Letter To Heaven.**

**  
**Hello, Sherlock Holmes.

This is stupid, isn't it? I know you would be sitting here laughing at me, saying how ridiculous it is to listen to my 'crap therapist', but I am so lost, I needed something. I hope they're treating you well up there, I hope you have all the experiments and cases you could wish for.

I wear your scarf now, I hope you don't mind. Ha. Look at this, I'm writing a letter to a dead person and asking if they mind that I wear their scarf. I am going mad, aren't I? ~~I suppose it's better than saying I still see you.~~ I miss you, you know.

I still have the rings... I bought them a week before you died, I was going to propose when we finally got to dinner. Funny how things work out, isn't it? If only you hadn't have been such a... a... horny bastard! Why couldn't you just have let me take you dinner? No, you just have to be the good guy all the time. The hero. They are real(heros, I mean). You were my hero, Sherlock. What do I do now? ~~I needed you, you selfish~~ ~~bastard~~. Sorry, that was uncalled for.

I know it wasn't your fault that we'll never get our wedding day; that we'll never get to have kids; that you'll never get to tease Greg for going out with Mycroft; that you didn't get to solve your last case; that you'll never get to see Anderson being slapped by his wife(you would have loved that); that you'll never get to meet our puppy, Gladstone; that you'll never get to tease me for my typing again, or my height. None of it was you fault. I just wish... stupid cases.

The man is in jail, you know. I tried to kill him, but Lestrade held me to the ground. I wouldn't let go of your body after that, it took 4 men to drag me away from you. I couldn't stop crying.  ~~I haven't stopped crying.~~

I haven't found anyone new yet. I doubt I will. I don't _want_  to, you were the only one for me.

Anyway, I should go to bed now. I'll leave this at your grave in a box. Doubt you'll need to read it, eh? Doubt you could, my tears appear to be smudging most of the ink. I know, I'm an idiot.

I will always love you, Sherlock. Goodnight.

John Watson.

**Author's Note:**

> I may have cried slightly whilst writing this. Oops.


End file.
